


Big Bear Little Bear

by stads02



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, just them being cute, these cuties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stads02/pseuds/stads02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Illya is really just a big bear that likes to look after his little bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Bear Little Bear

“We should not go to the beach.”

“Oh c’mon Peril, we’ve earned it,” Napoleon replied, then looked up from his newspaper to Gaby, “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

Gaby smiled, “Then Illya, you’ll just have to stay in the house, or tag along.”

Illya grunted, and scowled even deeper at the pieces on the chessboard, as he moved the black knight to take a white pawn, positively looking sullen. _медведь_ _._

While the name hadn’t suck like Napoleon’s Red Peril, _медведь_ was equally descriptive and suitable for the Russian spy. When she’d first met the man, he could be described to have a nearly permanent scowl. After Tokyo and Paris, he’d shown his true colors; an overprotective Russian bear, a _медведь_.

Napoleon was just like what Gaby assumed an older brother would be as he heckled her and teased her mercilessly, more often than not just lifting his eyebrows in such a way that the message was clear. Illya was never the over protective Russian mother bear to Napoleon. Instead he was more likely an old and aggravated Russian _grandpa_ bear that Napoleon would repeatedly poke with a stick.

At first, she’d welcomed it. Four months ago they’d left Tokyo in a hurry with the Yakuza after them and she felt slightly rattled, so the protectiveness felt soothing and safe. On their final night their mission was to plant a tracker on the target, a Yakuza who went by the name of Mr. Sabuski. Napoleon who was a dealer at the underground casino was trusted with the job to plant the tracker. Hers was to keep the bodyguard distracted. Only Napoleon had gotten a bit too interested in doing some fancy tricks with the cards and blew their cover. Before Napoleon could help her from the vice like grip of the bodyguard she’d just been flirting with, he’d taken her out of the back of the building and thrown her into a car. Fast forward forty minutes when her interrogator realized that electrocuting her wasn’t going to work and had stripped her of her dress to start pressing deep cuts into her skin, while brushing his fingers over the revealed skin, Illya burst in. Two shots in the man’s head later, Illya’s shaking hands untied her ropes and he’d refused to let her walk to the car where Napoleon was waiting. Illya had deemed the mission a success since Napoleon had planted the device, and without negotiation, arranged the flight back to London.

“We will follow up on Mr. Sabuski later, as the device has battery for two weeks,” was all he said to Napoleon after, and only Napoleon.

It was clear that Gaby was firmly resting to recuperate, and that was when it began. His soft touch as he helped her reapply bandages over the burnt skin of the electrocution. The watchful eyes as she tentatively walked around their safe house for the first few days, because she’d also badly sprained her ankle. The extra blanket that was always on her when she woke up from a nap. Illya still attempted to speak professionally to her, but the same softness that she’d glimpsed in Rome was now joined by a fiery protectiveness that made her realize that Illya in truth was just a big bear _._

The next mission in Paris had only worsened it. Before they left she’d taken many defense lessons with Napoleon. After a week he’d deemed her punches acceptable, her work with a knife incredible, and her agility a thing a beauty. It seemed to mean little to Illya, whose fingers gripped her waist tightly while in character of Mr. and Mrs. Kuryakin, and his eyes still followed her even when they were in the safety of their hotel room.

The lessons from Napoleon paid off when the two were coming home from an evening of party dresses and fancy music and chatting with the Prime Minister of France. It’d been a cool pleasant evening, and the hotel was only a few blocks away, so he offered his arm and they strolled down the street. They were stopped in situation with great similarity to Rome, except that there were six men who all looked equally large and strong. Unlike Rome, Illya was not going to ‘take it like a pussy’ as Napoleon would suggest and had immediately punched the closest man unconscious and the fight began.

Gaby was facing the leader and another thug in a knife fight desperately dodging while Illya took care of the remaining three. In the heat of the fight she’d taken out one brute, by stabbing her blade into the man’s side. The leader returned the gesture, her left side suddenly was engulfed in pain and her head with anger and Gaby caught his arm and jammed her hand into the back of his elbow, splintering the bone and rendering his limb useless. Illya delivered the final blow while he was on the ground, hands shaking with fury but his face full of pride.

“Chop shop girl, I did not know Napoleon taught you that,” he smiled.

“He didn’t,” Gaby replied as she tucked the knife back into its sheath at the top of her leg, hidden under her dirtied dress, “Germany did.”

Illya’s smile suddenly vanished when he watched her wince and hold her left side with both hands, feeling them become sticky.

“Gaby,” his jaw clenched and he threw off his jacket onto her.

He walked them back onto the road from the alley, and quickly to the hotel. They smiled as normally as they could to the doorman and the concierge, and headed to their room.

As soon as the door closed, Illya sprang into action, grabbing the first aid kit from his bag, a bottle of scotch, and water. She promptly took a swig of scotch from the bottle, despite Illya’s scowl and, “It is not the time to be drinking.”

“Ah but it is,” Gaby smiled despite the pain, “To a night of actual good taste, and a brilliant alleyway fight. You know how to treat a girl, Illya.”

He growled, “You’re hurt. I need to assess the injury.”

She looked at him for a brief second, considering her options before _oh hell to it_ , and twisted her arms behinds her to the dress’s zipper. She took notice of Illya’s reaction, but it was low on her list of priorities. Whatever happened in Italy and Japan and in between could wait. She shimmied out of the top half of her dress, leaving it to fall around where it was stuck at her hips and assessed the wound.

Illya, quicker than her had already taken a needle, doused it in alcohol and was burning it in the event that she would need stiches. She moved to take a nearby towel but his hand covered hers stopping it.

“Let me,” his hand squeezed her much smaller one softly, “I do not want you getting more hurt.”

She nodded and sat still, perfectly poised on the coffee table as Illya knelt next to her, carefully washing away the dried blood and analyzing the gash.

“You will not need stiches,” he murmured, “Слава Богу.” _Thank God._

Still, with precision and great carefulness for a man so big, he continued to clean and wrap her side and quietly left without a word. Gaby heard the sound of water from the bathroom and knew that he would be cleaning hers and the thug’s blood from his hands.

Slowly she moved from the coffee table to the couch and collapsed in it. Fatigue caught her and she fell asleep before the sound of the running water turned off.

The next morning Gaby woke up to Illya and the large, queen sized bed and it’s equally grand pillows. She was neatly tucked under the layers of beddings, while Illya leaned on pillows and the bed’s backboard with a large book in his equally large hand.

“доброе утро.” 

“Good morning to you too,” Gaby replied and moved to get up but was stopped.

“Your side needs time. You need to rest,” Illya frowned, “I have ordered room service.”

Gaby huffed as he left the bedroom.

“блинмедведь,” she muttered. _Damn bear._  

And after that, it only got worse. Illya must have spoken to Napoleon for whenever she went out she was now always accompanied by one of the two. Even in the Spanish sun of Majorca, and in the safety of the island and the safe house of UNCLE, he was still quietly watching over her. She’d long recovered from the knife fight. Waverly briefed them after Paris. They would be meeting up with Napoleon -who at the time had been assigned to a mission in Australia and had finished two days before them- in the Spanish island for three weeks while Waverly and the UNCLE team would be organizing the next mission for its three operatives.

After two weeks of over attentiveness, Gaby had had enough. A week ago Illya had _allowed_ her to go into the villas pool saying that her side had recovered enough. She missed the feeling of sand under her feet while she was in the water, and the ocean was literally and figuratively, right there.

Without any more hesitation about what the big bear would do, she suggested going to the beach. If he didn’t want to come, then she knew that Napoleon would be up for the escort that would quickly turn into an afternoon of “I’ll be back soon, Gaby,” to talk to many of the fine women who also were on the island of Majorca and who happened to be on the beach.

So she danced to a fun song in Spanish that was blaring on the radio as she put on her favorite swimsuit that the boys had bought her because her taste for swimsuits was apparently, not suitable. Gaby threw on a light button up shirt, which reminded her of her car mechanic days, and stepped out to the hallway, to wait for Napoleon who was for sure, taking his time in choosing his beach outfit for the day.

Instead of having to wait for Napoleon, Illya stood with his back against the white wall of the villa. He had a basket in his right hand filled with towels and the book he was presently reading, as well as sunscreen, and in his right, a large beach parasol. To complete the look, he was clad in orange and red striped swim shorts that they managed to find for his large size and a frown on his face.

“I will accompany you to the beach.”

Gaby smiled and flipped her pair of orange sunglasses on, “Let’s go then. Napoleon can catch up.”

He nodded and Gaby thought she saw a small smile on the sides of his lips but then he frowned when they walked in the sunlight and on their way to the quiet beach.

As soon as their feet touched the soft white sands, Gaby jumped up and put her hands up, turning to Illya, “Now this is a proper getaway to Spain, right Illya?”

Illya’s eyes flickered to hers, then grunted. He set down the basket. Then with a force that seemed too much for occasion, impaled the sand with the parasol and opened it. Next he set the towels he’d brought under the shade of the umbrella, and gave the sunscreen to Gaby before opening his book to read.

“The sun is strong in Spain. You wouldn’t want your skin to burn.”

Gaby looked at the Russian. He was much paler then her, and was much more likely to burn to a crisp then she would. Upon a quick inspection of his body, it had the familiar sheen of sunscreen despite the fact that every part of him was safely under the umbrella. Gaby smiled, and walked off into the water, feeling the occasional burn of the eyes of Illya, on her, keeping alert, and watching for anything.

Very soon after her initial walk into the water, just when she was heading back to Illya who was still completely in the shade a particularly handsome man walked up to her.

“Hola señorita,” he smiled at her, flashing the whites of his teeth while the sun bounced off his tanned skin, “I couldn’t help but notice you looked lonely…would you like to come and swim with me?”

Gaby smiled back at him about to reply, only for two very cold and very pale hands to wrap around her waist.

“She is fine where she is,” the familiar English with a Russian accent sounded behind her, “My fiancé was just planning on resting after going swimming for a bit, yes?”

Gaby looked at him wide eyed behind her sunglasses.

“After all,” he spoke, looking at the Spanish man, “She just had an operation to her side. We are vacationing here so she can recuperate and relax. Rightмоя маленькая медведь ?” Illya kissed the top of her head. 

She nodded slowly, “I’m sorry,” she said, smiling apologetically.

The man grinned, “It is okay, señorita. Feel better and relax with your fiancé. I would not wish to make you unwell.”

Illya turned them around, and they walked back to the umbrella when Gaby looked up at him, “What the hell was that?”

He looked down at her blankly, “What was what?”

“Why are you being so protective? I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he paused, as if looking for the words to say, “But I can’t help but worry. It is my job to keep you safe.”

Gaby scoffed, “Your job? You mean Waverly, or Napoleon looking out for me?”

He shook his head, not meeting her eyes, “No. This is a self-made job. I want to do it. Ever since Rome.”

He waited for her to say something, but when her mouth just kept slightly ajar, speechless, he smiled softer then she’d ever seen.

“I have been looking to describe what I feel, what I want to do and you gave me it in Paris,” he whispered, “медведь. I am your big bear. It is my job to protect my little bear. моя маленькая медведь,” he paused, “If that is what you would like.” 

He looked at her, again showing her sides that she had only seen in the face of danger. This face was full of openness, and submission. He wasn’t trying to hide behind his frown.

“Illya,” she took a deep breath, “I would love to be your little bear,” she smiled, her cheeks acting on their own, “But no more treating me like I am fragile, okay?”

Illya pulled her close to him, “I will try, but Gaby,” she felt his voice rumbling through his chest, “Russian bears like to show, not tell. It is what they are better at.” _It’s what I’m better at._

Ah, Gaby smiled. Illya was simply showing his affection the only way he could.

“And Gaby?”

“Yes?”

“We also show our happiness with lots of kisses.”

She laughed.

Then she pulled his head down to hers.     

**Author's Note:**

> I used Google Translate so if any of this is wrong, I apologise.
> 
> медведь = bear  
> Слава Богу = Thank God  
> доброе утро = good morning  
> блин медведь = Damn bear  
> моя маленькая медведь = my little bear


End file.
